The Night of the Switcheroo
by The Wild Wild Whovian
Summary: What if the star of the show wasn't James West? A Challenge Accepted story. (It probably helps to know the opening credits sequence of The Wild Wild West. And a few choice episodes as well… Oh, and the replacement star of the show? It isn't Artie either.)


_I saw a challenge online to write a story in which the main character __**isn't**__; he or she is a minor character with someone else as the main character. And I thought and thought on that, baffled. I mean, if Jim West isn't the main character, he just isn't Jim West!_

_Well, then I took a nap. And this happened…_

* * *

The lawman sat tall in the saddle on a fiery black stallion, the horse's tack gleaming with silver insets. Everyone admired him, especially the ladies. How they all exclaimed over his boyish good looks, his charming dimpled smile, his pale blue eyes behind his snug-fitting glasses! He nodded to the adoring masses as he rode along, touching the brim of his dome-topped hat now and again in acknowledgement.

He drew up in front of the saloon, tied up his mount to the hitching rail, then lit a cigarillo. As he was about to head into the saloon, however, he saw a man with a bandanna pulled up over his face come backing out of the bank next door, carrying a sack of stolen money in one hand and brandishing a six-shooter in the other!

Casually, as if he did this sort of thing every week, the earnest young lawman chopped the bandit on the back of the neck, sending him to the ground unconscious.

The lawman adjusted his frilly cuffs, crushed out his cigarillo, then pushed through the bat-wing doors into the saloon for a cold mug of sarsaparilla. Before he could belly up to the bar, though, a movement caught his eye: one of the gamblers was reaching surreptitiously for an extra ace hidden in his boot! The lawman whipped out the derringer from his inside pocket and shot the card right from the man's fingers, not even drawing a drop of blood!

Moments later as he stepped out into the sunshine again, the lawman found himself face-to-face with the business end of a revolver. "Git yer hands up!" growled a voice.

The lawman complied.

"I saw what you did just now, lawman. That was my buddy who was robbin' the bank. You done messed up our plans! So now yer gonna pay. Say yer prayers, mister, 'cause yer gonna meet yer Maker!"

The man with the gun drew back the hammer, ready to pull the trigger. But fast as he was, the lawman was faster. Suddenly a derringer even smaller than the one he'd used in the saloon zipped out of his frilly cuff into his palm. He fired, and the world could sleep easier that night, minus one more evil villain.

There came a tap on the lawman's shoulder, knocking his hat right off his head. He whirled to see a beautiful woman in a stylish green dress with pink trim, her matching parasol in her hand. "Oh, how thrilling!" she gushed. "I was in the saloon just now and saw how you handled that cardsharp! You're just wonderful!" And she threw herself into his arms and kissed him.

He kissed right back - until he felt that one of her hands was no longer caressing him and indeed no longer accounted for. He looked in her face, caught the cold gleam in her eyes, and hauled off and belted her a good one right across the chops. She fell, and the knife she'd been about to plunge into his back fell to the dust beside her.

"Let me guess," he said. "The cardsharp?"

"My… my husband," she gasped and added, "But… but no one kisses like you do!" just before she passed out in a puddle of silken skirts.

"Of course!" he said as he scooped up his dome-topped hat and placed it back on his head. "Well," he added, brushing off his hands, "my work here is done."

He returned to his horse and untied the reins. He then grasped the front and back of the saddle and jumped up, throwing his belly across the seat. Now he thrust his left foot into the stirrup and threw his right leg over the horse, then settled into the saddle to ride out of town.

The sun was setting. He headed toward it.

Just as he reached the edge of town, he spotted three youngsters watching him, their eyes like saucers. "Evening, boys," he said, tipping his hat to them. "Let's see: you're 'Stringbean' Cranston, right?"

Young Bosley Cranston could only nod, his voice having abandoned him.

"And you," said the lawman to the rotund kid at Bosley's side, "you're Neddie Brown."

"Y-yes sir!" Neddie's eyes shown with pleasure; the lawman knew his name!

"And you…" The lawman smiled down fondly at the third boy with his light brown hair and his blue-green eyes. "Why, I'd recognize you anywhere. You're little Jimmy West!"

"I sure am!" cried little Jimmy. "And when I grow up, mister, I wanna be just like you!"

The lawman chuckled. "Admirable goal, son, but I'm afraid it's a bit of a tall order." And drawing himself up straight and proud in the saddle, the lawman added, "Because in this world, boys, there's just one - and only one - Special Agent Richard Henry!"

…

The train whistle sounded, startling him from sleep. Jim West stared wildly at his surroundings for a moment, taking in the usual features of the varnish car: the desk with its hidden telegraphic key within the fake book set, the green curtains with golden tassels at the windows up and down either side of the car, the ornate fireplace, and the two gold sofas, one of which he was lying upon.

The swinging door that led to the corridor opened and in came Artie. "Just pulling into the station, James my boy," he commented. "Have a good nap?"

Nap. Dream. Of course, that's what it had been, a dream. As the train slowed to a halt, Jim got up and joined his partner in gathering their gun belts and the other special tools of their trade. And as they crossed from the varnish car into the baggage car to saddle their horses, Jim said, "Hey, Artie?"

"Hmm?"

"Next time you try out a brand-new recipe, how about you go easy on the anchovies, ok?"

**FIN**


End file.
